Bliss
by IrishHufflepuff
Summary: The Dark Lord has the flu at three am, and I, the saviour of the wizarding world, am the only one who can save him.


Let me start out by saying that I just love sub-text. It's my favourite thing so I thought I would write it. I use metaphors here because I am secretly intelligent and….well, I can think up these things, but I had a huge issue writing it. This takes us to my number one warning.

This is not the work of an established or self-established writer. This is the work of a two-year old with an extensive vocabulary and a sparkly imagination. I put this together after the established authoress Anaria Nothren beta'd, role-played, corrected, and psychologically abused me until we got it looking a little bit okay. The dialogue is sometimes sketchy because the role-playing was done over msn, which means I had to be reprimanded for using such terms as "LOL" and "WTF?". Nearly killed this fic in the making. I loved the idea too much, but it was too fluffy and silly so I asked my partner in crime and Anaria to darken it a bit for me. Now it's just clownishly sinister.

_**THIS IS DEDICATED TO THE AUTHORS AND READERS AT THE S.S. SSSSSSS! MOTIVATORS AND ENABLERS, I HAVE LEARNED TO CALL THEM. GO TO IN THE SCUSA FORUM YOU WILL FIND THEM.**_

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, Dumbledore would have been gay from book one or not at all, Tom Riddle would have been more interesting and he would also be gay. Let's just say that if you read the books and no one is obviously gay then I didn't write them and I am not going to make money from writing this.

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Bliss

I was sleeping when I got the owl.

I usually slept around that time. I find it to be the best time to sleep, in fact, most people would agree that sleeping at this time is a marvellous and a sensible thing. _Most_ people would insist that receiving an owl at three am is reason to complain. Most people are not sociopaths, and can convert easily to the social norms of sleeping! More reason to complain was- well, I'll let you read it yourself.

_**Boy-wonder,**_

_**I don't know what it is, but my head aches so. I feel cold, but Nagini keeps telling me that my skin is burning. She refuses to sleep next to me. I cannot allow the Death Eaters to see that someone has succeeded in bewitching me with an unidentifiable jinx. I have never felt this way before and I order you to come see me. I do not care where you are, what you're doing, or whom you are saving. I must have you here with me. I will be expecting you in four minutes. Do not bother bringing any of your books as mine are far more superior and as they hold nothing of this mysterious curse, it is likely that yours do not also. Four minutes!**_

_**Waiting with venomous certainty,**_

_**Tom Riddle; Lord Voldemort; Emperor of the Deep Dark; The Magnanimous Evil; The Anti-Merlin;**_

_**He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named; King of Death Eaters; Black Soul of Surrey, You-Know-Who.**_

I had to sigh my sigh as I pushed the covers off and dressed. I reached for my bag and apparated, hoping Ron and Hermione wouldn't hear the sound.

He was curled up on his window-seat, his blank darkening eyes unblinking when he turned to look at me. I hadn't ever actually seen him like that, his normally white, almost bloodless skin had two blooms of pink in his cheeks and I saw that his eyes were glazed. The Dark lord opened his mouth to say something, but I jumped back when he let out a most tremendous sneeze. I call it most tremendous because it has a bit of the word tremor in there and I could swear that's exactly what was swimming around the room after that alarming sound.

"All right, Tom?" said I.

He tried to destroy me with another sneeze, but since it didn't work he raised his sleeve to his nose. His velvet black sleeve came away wet. He looked at it for a moment and I know he was thinking the same thing I was thinking right then. "Gross."

I approached the window. "Tom, have you never had a cold before?"

"A cold?" he returned insipidly. I also think insipid is the best word for it because Hermione told me a few days ago that 'insipid' means unresponsive, mild, dull. And since I do not wish to use the word 'dull' to describe him; I shall be using the word 'insipid'. I charge you to challenge me on this. If you do, know that I have had years of Auror training. I will undoubtedly win and you will undoubtedly die. Tom continued. "Harry, you know I've become a being who cannot be affected by petty diseases or viruses. My body is far more developed than your own."

"Yes, ultimate immortality and invincibility; I've heard."

"Exactly. Therefore the concept of my catching a cold as you so aptly put, would surpass all laws of magic and logic."

"Yet, here you are," I replied.

"Indeed," he countered. "And still you do nothing."

Ah, this was a trick of his. Tom has never asked anyone to do something for him, he motivates them. Tom's theory is that people never do anything for nothing; they are motivated by their wants, needs, feelings. Of course, then, when you appeal to someone you must motivate them with words, something to trigger them into action like those wind-up cars that Muggle children play with.

I am under the supposition that Tom has made me smarter.

However…he still motivates me in some way or another. Psychology, he calls it. _I_ don't know _what_ to call it.

The sky was turning purple, and Tom pressed his hand on his forehead as if to push the pain away. Dumbledore used to tell me that I have a big heart; he stopped telling me that when he was dead. Now my only consolation is when I look at this Dark Lord, in pain, and my heart squeezes up, I can't breathe, and he's there, and my arms aren't even wide enough to enclose him, to cover the invincible.

I wanted to be invincible too.

I slipped onto the window seat opposite, leaning forward on the palms of my hands, which pressed against his right thigh. The deep dark in his pupils swam in a fluid grey, shining with that ill glaze; his cheeks were still tinged pink.

His head came down, resting in that spot between my neck and my left shoulder. I heard his breath coming in short gasps as it seemed his poor nose was plugged. My arms came up around his neck, feeling near incredulous at the heat emanating from his skin. We sat there, a minute passing as Tom's breathing slowed and the heat in his skin rushed in his blood into me. Taller, longer than me, it was almost unreal, being there and holding him like _I _was the ruler of the Wizarding World, only there to protect him.

"Will you let me take care of you?" I asked.

He stirred a little, his long fingers, reaching up to press against my waist. He was so ready to push me away, to tell me that he would find his way out on his own, some spell, some cure, but as his dried lips parted and heated breath escaped him, he moaned a little. His form shifted against mine as he raised himself up, the roughage on his chin brushing against my cheek.

"Boy wonder, hero-defeater of earthly woes…take me to bed," he whispered and I remembered a little why I had come in the first place, why I was still there. It was so easy to remember when my hands were on his torso, guiding him to the huge four poster on the other side of the room.

The satin shifted underneath his warm body, but he was lying down and quiet, which was something like relief for me. I raised the heavy coverlet and covered him with it, and his eyes were nebulas, extended to me. I smiled a little and pulled away, intending to find another blanket, but his hand was on my arm, and for all his sickness, he still had the strength to pull me down. His longer arms came around me from behind and his chin rested on my head.

"Tom," I said.

"You'll have your dragons, damsels in distress, awards, swords, and heroism tomorrow, boy-wonder."

"I wasn't…I didn't want to go anywhere."

"I care very little. You'll stay"

His arms tightened and

thump.thump.thump

His heartbeat was pounding against my nape and when I swallowed, he sighed.

"Yes. You'll stay, but not because I make you. I could kill you. Tell me why you will stay here with me and I _won't_ kill you."

I laughed and it was breathless because his wand was pressed against my temple and death was all right for me. It was funny, him using his worst fear to motivate me. I didn't turn, but I grabbed the hand that pinned me there at my side. "I'm staying here with you _because_ you won't kill me."

He shifted and his wand moved away from my head, his muscles relaxed, but his breath quickly. "Arrogant little Chosen."

Soft, hissing, and I didn't lie to him because of the suffocation of being under the stifling blankets next to a feverish Dark Lord. He couldn't admit that he had a simple flu; he couldn't comprehend the idea that he might have become vulnerable to a Muggle sickness. His mouth moved to the back of my throat and I shuddered convulsively.

"You must think me so soft, so different from what you thought."

"Not in the way you think," was my reply.

Yes, he was feverish and he began to shiver. I thought it best if I gave him something, anything to keep the fever down. Thinking nothing of it, I pushed his arms away and rolled off the bed swiftly, and as I surmised, he was unable to follow, too far gone now. I reached into my bag, which I had left near the door. Seconds only passed and I found what I was looking for.

Rising I approached the bed from the other side where he was nearly shaking in strange, crazy tremors and I was really frightened for him. My hand went to his sweaty forehead and he flinched at the contact. "My Lord, you have a flu and I have to give you something to bring your fever down."

His bleary gaze fixed on mine, and he swallowed wetly, the pink in his cheeks deepening. His dry lips parted again. "Idiot," he breathed. "I am too tired to put up with your incompetence anymore. Go home to your Muggle world…it's too cold. Go away, I will take nothing from you."

"Tom?" I prodded, leaning closer to him.

His eyes opened and they were watery. He was going to become delirious soon enough, and my heart still hurt for him. He didn't answer, merely looked at my proximity, from my eyes to my lips. In his state, he could only think of warmth.

I rose. He shut his eyes. I pulled myself up on the bed and pushed him onto his back. I straddled him and he fruitlessly tried to push me away. If only I had had him like this a year before when I thought he was trying to kill me. I pressed the pill to my lips and let it sink into my mouth, the powder dissolving too quickly. Not pausing for a second I pinned The Dark Lord by his arms, and he could only groan as I came down upon him.

Never would I have done this, and never would I admit what a pleasure it was. I covered his mouth with my own, forcing his mouth open under mine, and he yelped a little in the pain of his head and vague disbelief. I will not tell you how it felt for I'm worried that I'm betraying myself when I explain the wonderful feeling of having this much control over him, pressing my mouth against him, dragging my tongue over his, the heat of his fever nearly clouded my mind, but the bitter powder poured over his tongue and blended in his saliva. He choked, and moved his arms uselessly, but I held him fast, not moving my mouth from his.

He fought me. His body crackled with power and rage, disbelief and humiliation as I pressed my fingers hard into his arm and forced his mouth open all the more, pressing my tongue inside him. The sheets tore and the window panes began to shake. I shut my eyes, and pulled back only enough to breathe against his lips. "Swallow, you bastard, just swallow!"

An involuntary whimper escaped him as he tried to shake his head, but I raised my knee to imprison his arm as I pulled out my wand. I used a binding charm and he was immoveable. There was medicinal powder still on my lips and it seemed he intended to destroy me mainly with his gaze as he tried to cough up the substance. I leaned down and imprisoned his lips again. He would have to swallow at some point.

_An Hour Later…._

Sound asleep and his fever was down. I sat at the window and I was thinking.

I thought about how he would take his revenge when he was well. How he would probably torture me until I was sick. How he would hold me so tightly until my sides strained in pain. How he would spit a diatribe at me when he woke up.

I was smiling though.

Fevers could kill sometimes. I was his saviour. I was happy..

It was because of _this_ that I stayed…there…with him.


End file.
